User blog comment:Biggren/The Northern March Original/@comment-3135907-20130628155739/@comment-3135907-20150416200451

The tide was out, and so it was tight work getting through the crabs that scuttled all along the walls of the subterranean channel. Feffle swatted one aside just as another latched onto his scut and another onto his left footpaw. "Yowow, c'mon chaps, we're doin' it!" Half-tripping, half-stumbling, with arms flailing around awkwardly, the hare was two thirds of the way to the exit opening when there was a massive roar, then a rush of pressurized ocean thundered through the tunnel, sweeping everybeast out in a watery vacuum of crabs, sand, hares and lichen.

A full ten yards out in the brine, Feffle surfaced, gasping for air. The light of a quarter moon greeted him, and the muffled sounds of vermin jawing onshore.